*RESULTS NOT TYPICAL girl

happy blessings day y’all

Kirsten — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 10:45:55 +0000

For Thanksgiving, a girlfriend of mine is roadtrippin’ it with her yumtastically-lickable boyfriend to meet his parents. I’ve always said that roadtrips and moving are something every couple should do before making any sort of permanent commitment to one another. To blend a long drive AND meeting the parents all in one trip? I gots-ta give my girl some props. I decided to be all helpsy and offer the following support:

MY HELPFUL SUPPORT VIA TEXT: Child-free roadtrips practically MANDATE blowjobs.

HER APPRECIATION-FILLED RESPONSE: You crack me up. But it is daytime…still ok? Do u just ignore the trucker’s stares?

MY HELPFUL SUPPORT VIA TEXT: I can’t see the trucker stares cuz I’m busy sucking fuckstick, but I reckon most would approve whole heartedly.

HER APPRECIATION-FILLED RESPONSE: …Has [Husband 2.0] gone off the road before?

MY HELPFUL SUPPORT VIA TEXT: Only spiritually…Jesus Takes the Wheel becomes a TOTALLY different song.

Image via Wikipedia

As yet, I haven’t gotten a text asking me to send bail money…

Whether you’re a white meat or dark meat kinda gal, here’s hoping your Day of Blessings is a great one.

Jughugs, K

a blog hiatus

Kirsten — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 11:26:37 +0000

4am came and my body was all like, “Hey. Hi. How are ye? Watcha doin’? Ready to get up? Weee!” I reckon that’s what I get for thinkin’ I don’t have enough time to get all my fashit done. I was totally having this effed up dream too, one where I, at 40 years old, kept trying to run away from home. I just kept running, literally. My family kept finding me and then I would take off running again and try to find a new hiding space. One time, I even hid under an old Studebaker that my dream sucked right out of the American Pickers episode I watched last night. I’m resourceful like that.

And when I take a look at what’s really digging at me like a summer-camp chigger, it’s the fact that I’ve said YES too much and to too many, except myself. My blog has lost it’s sparkle because my life has lost its sparkle. I’ve been battling a snowballing, fattening, downward spiral of depression. And so, after much heart-tugging and braincell wrestling, I’ve decided to take a blogging break. I have officially given myself a 3-month blogging vacation with an option to renew at the end (I’m a helluva negotiator).

I joined a gym for 3 months and yesterday, thanks to my much-appreciated Facebook cheerleading squad, I managed to do the hardest exercise evah: opening the gym door and marching my fattest-ass-in-the-club right in.

I’m going to spend the rest of the year focusing on finding my balance and prioritizing my health. I’ve got a dozen reviews outstanding, so you’ll see entries pop up bere from time to time as I meet my obligations, And, as the cravings strike, I may keyboard-vent accordingly.

I hope you understand. And if we’re not friends on FB yet, please send me a request.

Jughugs and love, me

wtf wednesdays: an a+ in wtfery

Kirsten — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 11:44:57 +0000

Hole.

Fuckballs.

If I made a list of all the ways I’ve screwed up my offspring, thank Baby Hey-Zeus that “picking this daycare provider” ain’t on the list…

how i found out i have time to exercise

Kirsten — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 11:41:37 +0000

So I’m at counseling yesterday and she asks me, “If you got cancer and they told you that you needed chemo and radiation for 1 hour a day for 3 months, would you do it?”

I nodded.

“So it would take you getting cancer for you to give yourself a hour a day?”

((blink. blink. blink))

The bitch doesn’t hold her punches.

Can’t wait to go back.

After I exercise, of course.

the one about being a diagnosed goober

Kirsten — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 11:40:20 +0000

There are days when I wonder how my life has become so un-blogged. It’s not that I don’t have anything to write about. I haven’t stopped composing posts in my head. It’s more of a the-cape-of-motherhood is choking the shit out of my emotional bank account and I’m so fucking tired. All. The. Time.

It’s all I can do some days to stay current with my Words with Friends, m’kay?

A couple months ago I went to a shrink and she rocked. We set up an appointment for the next Dr. FeelGood session, I added the reminder to my less-than-smart phone and the fucking-fuckity-fuck alarm never went off. I felt like such a complete dorkapotamus that I never called her back. Many a night I would wake up in the middle of the night having an anxiety attack about accidentally blowing her off. That and not having the school directory finished. My anxiety attacks are meaty like that.

Husband 2.o made me promise I’d call her. I know it’s fucked up that I called her for HIM and not for ME, but in the end, I made the damn call, alright??? I was beyond relieved when I got voicemail. Cuz voicemail rocks for procrastinating anxious-eaters. I told her how I fucked up and I was sorry and maybe she never wanted to talk to me again but I had to try and how I needed her more than she needed me. It was as if an Air Supply song was playing in the background and I was begging my junior high boyfriend to take me back.

On Monday she called me back. She was all like, “Why didn’t you just call? You are such a goober!” Finally, a diagnosis. It explained so much. I was all like, “Duh, this is exactly WHY I need you in my life.”

We set up an appointment for next Monday. Who wants a sammich?

p.s. Zemanta is suggesting I use “Republican” as a post tag. It’s like they don’t even know me sometimes…